


The Letter

by soulback



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Marauders, Reunion, sneaky shoebox project reference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 03:20:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2716991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulback/pseuds/soulback
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Hello,” said Remus, ducking his head in a funny nod as he steadied himself against the doorframe. </i>
</p><p> </p><p>First meeting after Prisoner of Azkaban. 'Tis the season to be awkward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Letter

The letter had been read and folded and then unfolded and read again so many times that in the short week it had been in Sirius’ possession, its creases had become cracks and the whole thing fell apart into four grubby squares the next time he took it out of his pocket.

_Thank you for y_

_Of course I will_

\- read the first square, and the second square read -

_our invitation_

_be there._

The third square was blank. 

The fourth square simply said _Remus_.

It was, when Sirius considered the matter, a careful letter – very proper, very dull. There were no ‘how are yous?’ or ‘by the bys’; no ‘Sirius-were-you-drunk-when-you-wrote-that-invitation-it’s-got-an-ink-blot-the-size-and-shape-of-Australia-on-it’s. In short, it was nothing like the literary masterpieces they used to write over the summer holidays (the collection of which Sirius swore he had burnt unceremoniously one winter morning when they had run out of kindling (‘Excellent fire starters, this parchment’ he had said), but which in truth he had hidden, from himself, in a shoebox in an attic somewhere).

And so Sirius was left trying to read between the lines of ten little words, as he sat by the clock on the staircase in the hallway of Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

The clock was given to Sirius’ family the year Sirius was born. It was an ugly thing – proof that money didn’t necessarily buy taste. It ticked on and on but even while its hands slowly, steadily, approached four o’clock, it really didn’t seem to be going anywhere. It was frozen in time (“Ha ha”, thought Sirius, “Frozen in _time_. I must remember that one”) to the last significant event it marked, and since then – despite being magically dusted and polished by Sirius in an uncharacteristic but entirely necessary fit of domesticity – it just sort of went through the motions, a remnant of the past.

He caught sight of his own reflection in the little glass clock face, and his reflection glared back.

“Don’t give me that,” said Sirius aloud. “I’m as old as you.”

Then he realised he was taking to himself (or, worse, to a clock), and he went back to staring at the front door. The clock ticked on next to him. At the same time that the big hand hit twelve and the gong chimed, the front door bell sounded, loudly, and Sirius jumped, as if he hadn’t really been expecting it, after all.

Sirius made every effort to walk calmly to the door as he straightened his back and tugged on his jacket, every bit the picture of a respectable gentlemen. But suddenly he wasn’t sure what he would say when he opened the door – what would be his very important first words – he wasn’t even sure, when he thought about it, which way the door handle even turned to open – was it clockwise or anti-clockwise?

Fuck it.

Sirius opened the door with such force that the tall, thoughtful looking man on the doorstep toppled forward with the rush.

“Hello,” said Remus, ducking his head in a funny nod as he steadied himself against the doorframe. He stood there, suitcase in one hand and hair flopping across his face, and for a moment Sirius thought he didn’t quite recognise him – like an optical illusion that he couldn’t make work.

Then Remus was borne over the threshold in a wave of red-headed Weasleys and a lone Granger.

“Sirius!” cried Mrs Weasley, throwing her arms around him in a flurry of shawls. “How are you?”

“Hello, Sirius. Hello, Remus,” said Mr Weasley, balancing a large basket carefully as he shook each of their hands.

“Professor,” said Ron, and nodded hesitantly at Sirius.

“Wotcher!” said George and Fred in unison, as Ginny slipped shyly past.

“Well, uh – come in!” said Sirius, when Remus was the only one left, his grey tweed suit dusted with snow.

“Thank you,” said Remus, his voice quiet and low. Sirius gave him a half hug around the shoulders as he closed the door behind him, and led him – not awkwardly, thought Sirius, not awkwardly at all – into the kitchen where the Weasleys were already shouting and laughing as they unpacked.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” said Mrs Weasley, turning to Remus.

“Thank you,” said Remus again.

“We’ve missed you,” said Hermione warmly. “Defence Against the Dark Arts has been ever so dull this year.”

“Don’t even mention school,” said Ron. “It’s Christmas, isn’t it?”

“Well, it’s true. Professor Lupin was one of our best teachers.”

“Teachers’ pet,” muttered Ron.

Hermione glared at Ron. Remus looked as if he didn’t know where to look, until Mr Weasley pulled back a chair at the table, indicating that he should sit down – so Remus sat, and drank tea, and talked in cheerful tones about gardening with Mr Weasley, while Sirius hovered at the end of the table with Mrs Weasley and drove her to distraction by eating the sugar cherries straight from the jar.

“Honestly, Sirius, anyone would think you were twelve!”

Sirius felt Remus glance up.

“Trust me, Mrs Weasley. You should be glad you didn’t know me when I was twelve,” he said with a wink.

Remus said nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> I have, rather brilliantly, managed to delete the second chapter of this. I hope to dredge up the energy to re-write it, so I can get on to posting the third chapter. le sigh.
> 
> (Also, doesn't everyone sound like they stepped out of an Enid Blytong novel?)


End file.
